Bark At The Ants
by Soncnica
Summary: Apparently ‘bark at the ants’ means to vomit outdoors; who knew? Written for IheartSam7, because she loves puking!Sam just as much as I do.


**This is gross, people! You have been warned! So yeah… and hey, no one ever said that throwing up is pretty, right IheartSam7?! LOL**

**I don't own anything and all the grammar/spelling mistakes are mine! 'm sorry for them. **

**Enjoy…**

**---**

Sam's stomach was all over the place, there was no other way of describing what was going on. It was doing some weird… stuff and Sam thought something had to have had taken residence in there, because the feeling was really, really… bad. Like something was crawling in there and trying to escape out of his skin or maybe Dean just made him watch Alien one too many times. He wouldn't be surprised if his stomach opened up right there and now and something would jump out of it.

He shrunk into himself when his stomach made a noise, a noise resembling a river running over a stone.

He swallowed.

Dean was oblivious sitting in the driver's seat, nodding his head to some Zeppelin song, Sam had heard over a million times before.

He was gonna throw up. Simple as that. He was gonna throw up and there'll be nothing he would be able to do about it. The thing that was in his stomach, whatever it was, had to come out. One way or the other. He preferred one way and not the other.

Dean made a left turn with a little too much speed and the Impala went all wobbly underneath Sam's ass and he almost doubled over with what that did to his insides. He grabbed his stomach, trying to put some pressure on it; to be honest he didn't know what the hell he was trying to do. Putting pressure on his stomach helped a little, but then his insides flipped and rolled and he leaned forward a little, trying to squeeze himself into a ball.

Dean's eyes were on the road, so concentrated, Sam thought that Dean was sleeping with his eyes open.

It hurt. It hurt so bad. So, so, soooo bad. The food he ate for lunch was gonna come up, it was just a matter of time.

He had been sick before like this, and he swore to himself that he would do whatever it took to never feel this way again, but damnit… that lunch had been really delicious. Just proves how delicious doesn't always mean safe.

He tried to massage his stomach, running his palm left and right, up and down through his shirts, but that had absolutely no effect whatsoever.

He breathed in… one long, deep breath, fallowed by another and another until he was almost hyperventilating. Passing out would be awesome right now, he thought and sneaked his hand below his shirts until he got skin to skin, palm to belly.

He sighed.

His palm was cool on the heated skin and he left out a breath and started to rub again. He put some pressure in the movement and that kind of helped, until Dean made another turn and everything turned upside down again in his stomach.

"In the car, Sammy? Really?"

Dean's voice startled him from his thoughts on how it would be the easiest way to die. Because it felt like he was dying. It felt worse then that.

He rubbed his belly with his cold palm, that was slowly becoming too warm to be comfortable, and closed his eyes for a second just to get himself together, before answering that… whatever Dean meant. His stomach was really doing some weird stuff underneath his palm... it was really like there was something really moving in there. He really tried not to think about Alien right now.

He swallowed.

He knew he was sweating, he knew his forehead was covered in tiny droplets of salty water, he knew his hair was a mess, he knew his cheeks were stained pink and he knew Dean will know there was something wrong… if he didn't know already.

He burped and it was like a light went on above his head… he just figured out what Dean meant by that question and he removed his hands from his stomach and from underneath his shirts as if he was burned.

"What?! No, I…I wasn't… 's not… I don't…"

"Chill, dude."

And the moron of his big brother actually found it funny.

"Seriously, are you okay?"

"'s just really hot in here."

"I, uh, can turn off the heat?"

"That would be awesome."

"Well, okay. But next time… do it yourself… 'm not your slave."

Sam would laugh at that, if he thought that it would be safe to open his mouth without his lunch making second appearance. On second thought - that meatloaf didn't look so good going in – but it was still oh so very delicious - and it sure ain't gonna look great coming out.

His chest started to burn… that was not normal. He tried to catch his breath but it got stuck somewhere in the middle of the meat loaf he ate for lunch and his mouth.

"Stop the car." He groaned out.

"Huh?"

"Stop the car!!!"

He nearly spat a huge chunk of spit on the windshield, but he knew that if that would ever happen, he would be walking to the nearest motel. So he probably missed.

Dean didn't need to be told again, because he saw how green Sam looked in his face and the way his hand was placed tightly over his mouth.

Sam closed his eyes and tried to breathe through his nose, because he could already feel bile coming up his throat and before he could jump from the car into the grass, his palms were hit with saliva and yeah… lunch. The brown liquid started to run freely between his fingers, and dripped onto the tiny pebbles between his boots.

"Ewww, Sam… what the Hell?"

Sam let his hand fall from his mouth, little bits of meat still stuck between his fingers. He was hanging out from the car, still sitting on the seat, his feet planted securely on the road.

Time loses meaning when you're trying to puke your guts out, grabbing at your jeans almost ripping the material in half and making noises you will never admit of making.

Brown bile was splashing onto the pebbles, his throat burning with it. His eyes were leaking tears and he will never admit to crying. He even had some bile running out of his nose and that was just nasty.

He gagged and spit on the floor the last remains of that round.

And then he gagged again and started another round.

His stomach muscles were doing over time and he could just feel the phantom soreness that will become real tomorrow.

His throat started to burn and then plain out hurt, but the monster in his stomach was far away from stopping in throwing up everything inside of him.

He closed his eyes, the sight below him just a confirmation of his thoughts from before… meat loaf doesn't look good coming up the second time around.

Tears and snot were running freely now… mixing with the bile on his lips, the saliva tasting sour.

Maybe Dean called out his name once, or maybe twice, but the buzz in his ears and the stench in his nose prevented him to hear or even respond to anything Dean might've said.

He just knew that if he continues to throw up like this, he's gonna throw up his stomach any second now.

Between gasps for air, he managed to choke out "Oh, God… oh, God, Goooood…" but that didn't help any, because his stomach made a sudden twist to the right again and he couldn't stop the flow of bile that came crashing to the pebbles again.

Every hole in his face was leaking; tears in his eyes, bile in his mouth, snot from his nose, and for a second there, he even though his ears might start bleeding from the strain. He never felt more humiliated and more scared in his life.

His hand was still covered in tiny chunks of meat and he didn't know where to wipe it clean, so he bend over and wiped it on the soft grass next to his left shoe. He slumped back in the seat, hitting his head on the back of the seat and breathed.

"You good now!?"

"I uh… sorry." His voice was shot to shit - hoarse, slurred and thick with embarrassment.

"Come on, barf boy… drink this… and dude… rinse your mouth. You stink."

**---**

**The End.**


End file.
